


Bad Date

by f-ing-ruthless-baz (f_ing_ruthless_baz)



Series: Carry On Ficlets [7]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Awkward Dates, Bad Flirting, Ficlet, Fluff and Humor, M/M, POV Simon Snow, Texting, The Great British Bake Off References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 17:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_ing_ruthless_baz/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz
Summary: B: I'd like to thank you, SnowS: WhatB: You've set such a low bar that I found myself swept off my feet by the mere fact that my date showed up on time tonightB: Put me in high spirits for the entire eveningS: GoodS: I'm glad I could hwipS: HelpB: Drinking spirits also helped, especially since none were dumped unceremoniously in my lapS: That was an accidentS: You assAfter a being set up on a terrible date with Baz, Simon has to contend with a barrage of condescending texts reminding him what a disaster he is.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry On Ficlets [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1453180
Comments: 45
Kudos: 457





	Bad Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/gifts).

> This is based on a meet-ugly prompt that was requested: _we were set up on a blind date but it went horribly, so now you message me every time you have a good date because you think your tips will help me in the future, you ass_
> 
> I didn't adhere to the prompt entirely, but I had fun jumping off from it. Thanks to [The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff) and [soultoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast) for letting me bombard them with snippets as I finished this ficlet.
> 
> For the texting:  
**Baz's texts**  
_Simon's texts_

**I'd like to thank you, Snow**

_What_

**You've set such a low bar that I found myself swept off my feet by the mere fact that my date showed up on time tonight**

**Put me in high spirits for the entire evening**

_Good_

_I'm glad I could hwip_

_Help_

**Drinking spirits also helped, especially since none were dumped unceremoniously in my lap**

_That was an accident_

_You ass_

**An accident that my date skillfully managed to avoid, through spatial awareness and a basic understanding of the physics of liquids sloshing around in a glass**

_Woop dee fuckin doo_

**Have a pleasant evening as well, Snow**

I have to say, Baz is one of the most miserable humans I’ve ever met. What the hell was Penelope thinking, setting me up with him?

Ever since I broke up with Agatha, Penny’s been trying to get me to start dating again. Something about plenty of fish in the sea, or whatever. And once I realized I’m probably into blokes as well, she said that doubled my options. (I told her I don’t think that’s how it works, but apparently she wasn’t speaking literally.)

In any case, she wound up telling me about this guy at her new job, who—according to her—looks like the man from the razor advert that I complain about every time it comes on. Mostly because no one should have the right to look like _that_. I didn’t see how this was really a selling point, when she asked me if I’d want to meet him, since the sight of a face like that makes me want to punch it—and then kiss it better. I hate it.

She assured me, however, that he was very smart and funny and—this was an important one—_also into blokes_. And that he thought I was cute, based on the photo Penny showed him. I wanted to be annoyed at her about that, but I’m a sucker for flattery, I guess. So I agreed to meet him.

I just didn’t realize she meant it would be a _date_ date.

Not until I called her when I was running late, and she informed me that she wasn’t going to be there.

“I thought you understood, Simon,” she said to me. “I’m sorry I wasn’t clear. I’ll let him know you’re going to be late.”

“What? No!” I replied. “I’m not going to meet him now! I’m not dressed for a proper _date_, Penny. Also, I don’t even know him! How am I supposed to make conversation and—”

“You’ll be fine, I promise. Just go, please. I’ll seem like a jerk if you stand him up, you know.”

“Ugh, fine. But I’m only doing this for you.”

Delays on the tube meant I was over half an hour late to meet with him, so I just had to hope Penny got through to him and he waited. Then again, I thought, if he was gone already, I could just go home.

He wasn’t gone.

He seemed pretty annoyed when he saw me, though. (I had to assume it was him, at least. He looked like a younger, fancier—and perhaps even _handsomer_—version of the razor advert guy, and he seemed to recognize me right away.)

I suppose he had every right to be annoyed with me. My late arrival meant he had to forfeit our reserved table, and we were forced to wait another half hour for one to become available—my stomach was annoyed at me for that, too. And the evening only got worse from there.

I spilled my drink on his trousers while we waited at the bar, I kept forgetting not to talk with food in my mouth—I was nervous—and when we put our jackets on to leave, I accidentally jabbed him in the back with my elbow.

It was a Bad Date. There’s no getting around that. We did exchange numbers at the end, out of sheer politeness, and I expected never to hear from him again. But then he texted later that night.

**I think I’m going to have a bruise, Snow**

**Thanks**

_You’re welcome_

* * *

**I’ve got a date in 45 min, what do you think of this outfit?**

**[photo attached]**

_You look like a posh wanker_

**Excellent, just what I was going for**

_Congrats then_

**Any plans for yourself tonight, Snow?**

_A hot date with Dominos and GBBO_

**Stop, you’re making me feel sorry for you**

_Beats going on a date with a posh wanker_

**I think it’s nice to go out with someone who has decent table manners, actually**

**Something you are sorely lacking**

_Oh wow that hurts_

**Well, enjoy Netflix and chilling alone tonight**

_Wanker_

**No, you**

I send him a photo of me scowling and flipping him off before dropping my mobile on the sofa next to me.

I hate that this has become my weekend routine. Pizza, telly, and taunts from Baz about his dating life, which is much more active than mine, I’ve noticed.

I’ve lost count of how many dates he’s been on since the one with me—five? six?—but it’s certainly more than my zero. (Not that I’ve been trying at all. Still.)

All I know is he likes to text me after each date to give me a detailed review of how much better it was than ours, and what I might do in the future to improve. He’s completely condescending about it, too, talking to me like I’m an idiot. I mean, I _know_ that sloshing my pint into my date’s lap is not a good thing to do. He doesn’t need to remind me every fucking time.

To add insult to injury, he’s gotten into the habit of texting me beforehand, as well, usually to send me a mirror selfie of his outfit. Even though he clearly doesn’t want my opinion. He knows way more about looking good than I do, and he does. Look good, I mean. He knows he does, too. He just does this to annoy me.

I can barely even enjoy _Bake-Off_ tonight, thinking about him out with someone, looking like that. I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy as the past couple of times—Baz seems rather fond of him, though he sounds like a dickhead to me. Just because he went to Oxford or some shit, Baz thinks this guy’s better than me. He probably has zero personality, though.

It’s not like I care what he does, or who he does it with. It’s just irritating, that’s all.

**How was your Dominos?**

_Fantastic_

**My date was good too, thanks for asking**

_Can’t have been that great if you’re texting me already_

**I understand that you have no appreciation for intelligent conversation itself, but some of us enjoy that sort of thing**

_Ooh intelligent conversation_

_Sounds hot_

**Works for me**

**You should try it some time**

* * *

**Am I supposed to hate Paul Hollywood this much?**

_What?_

**I’m watching your baking show**

**And I sort of hate him**

_Oh_

_Yeah that’s normal_

**He thinks he’s a god because he can make bread**

**How hard can it be?**

**It’s just bread**

_You sound like an idiot right now_

**I guess you must be rubbing off on me**

_You wish_

**Snow**

**If you’re trying to flirt with me, you’re terrible at it**

_Lol as if I would flirt with you_

_You’ve probs got a hot date with intelligent conversation tonight_

**The only person I seem to be talking to tonight is you**

**So no intelligent conversation, no**

_You’re a dick_

**Very witty, my mistake**

_So you’re just watching GBBO alone tonight like some loser?_

**Isn’t that what you’re doing?**

_My point exactly_

**At least in my case it’s not every single night**

**Unlike you, I have a life most of the time**

_And yet you keep texting me_

_Lol_

_Baz_

_Come on_

_What so now you’re not texting me?_

_Whatever I don’t care_

_Fuck you_

**You wish**

I slam my laptop shut and shove it aside, sitting up straighter as I make a call. He doesn’t answer. I text him again.

_Answer your fucking phone you ass_

Instead of a text response, he calls me back, which surprises me for a moment before I pick up.

“Baz,” I say angrily.

“Yes, Snow?” he says, and I realize it’s been several weeks since I’ve heard his voice. It’s not exactly how I was remembering it—it’s much nicer, actually. In a condescending way, of course.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone? You could obviously see it was me.”

“I assumed you called by accident.”

“Why would I call you by accident?”

“I don’t know, Snow. Why would you call me on purpose?”

“I, er, well, I—” _I have no fucking clue._ “You were being a prick, so I—I thought—”

“Thought you’d just give me an earful about what a prick I am, hm?” he says. He sounds mildly amused.

“Well… Yeah. I guess.”

“How kind.”

“You know, did you ever stop to think that it was partially your fault our date was so terrible?” I add.

“Where is this coming from, exactly?”

“Just, you keep bugging me about how I messed everything up, and like, yeah, I messed some stuff up. But you weren’t Mr. Perfect either, y’know.”

“So, what? Are you’re saying that if I had been unattainably perfect—outside the realm of human possibility, even—that you would have been less of a disaster?”

“Maybe!” I reply defiantly. “Or, well, I dunno, but—”

“Look, Snow, do you want to know a secret?” he says with a sigh.

“Um. Sure?”

“You being late, and spilling your drink on me, and stabbing me in the back—”

“I did not _stab_ you in the back; it was my elbow!”

“—All of that wasn’t why it was a terrible date, right?”

“It wasn’t?”

“I could tell you didn’t want to be there,” he says, a bitter edge to his voice. “So, yes, it probably was my fault, since I’m clearly not what you were looking for—”

“What?” I cut in. “That’s not—I wasn’t—I did want to be there—Er, well, I mean… Okay, I didn’t really want to be there. But that’s not because of you.”

“Right.”

“I swear! I just—I didn’t know it was an actual _date_ until I was on my way, and I was stressed about it the whole time, and—”

“It’s fine, Snow,” he says. “I get it. I’m not what you were expecting, so.”

“No, I—Well, okay, no, you weren’t exactly how I was expecting you’d be. I mean, we’re not exactly in the same… I dunno, _league_, or whatever.”

“What? Snow, you spend your evenings eating pizza and watching _Bake-Off._”

“Exactly!”

“Exactly _what?_”

“Everything I do is beneath you, as you like to point out all the fucking time,” I say. “You don’t have to text me every day to remind me how much better you are, you know.”

“You think that’s why I text you?” Baz laughs lightly. “You really are dense, aren’t you?”

“And you are just proving my point.”

“Snow, I don’t actually make it a habit to keep in contact with every cute guy I go on a disastrous date with,” he says.

“Well, _sor-ry_, but I never asked you to—”

“I’m saying _I like talking to you_, you numpty,” he cuts in.

“You—_What?_”

“You make me laugh. And you’re criminally attractive—sometimes I just like to rile you up so you send me V-sign selfies,” he says. “You’re pretty sexy when you’re pissed off.”

“_Jesus_,” I mutter under my breath. I think I’m blushing.

“I thought you realized we were flirting.”

“We were?” I ask, my voice pitching up with nerves.

He exhales a puff of air, like he’s annoyed, and I realize I may have been misreading everything he’s ever said to me.

“But—” I add, trying to wrap my head around this. “But you were always going on dates with other guys!”

“Most of them were just friends,” he says, less confidently than before. “One was another setup, like you.”

“And…?”

“And he was fucking _boring_.”

“Still a better date than me, though, right?” I chuckle half-heartedly.

“Simon, can I text you again?” he says after a moment. It’s weird to hear him call me _Simon_. He hasn’t done that since our date. (Once I gave him my number and told him my surname was _Snow_, he laughed and has been calling me that ever since.) (I thought he was doing it to be mean, but…)

“Er, yeah, I guess,” I reply uncertainly.

He hangs up and I immediately go to our text conversation to watch for the typing bubble. It takes longer to show up than I’d care for—I almost thought he was just blowing me off—but then an image comes through.

It’s a photo of him, from the shoulders up, dimly lit and leaning back against something wooden. I think it’s a headboard. (That makes me blush harder.) He’s wearing a t-shirt—I didn’t even know he owned a t-shirt—and has a lazy smirk on his face. He looks… happy, though. Relaxed yet amused.

It’s admittedly a good look for him.

**Tonight’s better than any date I’ve had in a while**

_You mean watching bake off alone?_

**I mean watching Bake Off while texting you**

**Besides, I stopped paying attention to the show ages ago**

_Rude_

**I don’t really get it**

**Maybe you could come round and explain it to me some time**

_Are you prepositioning me?_

**Propositioning**

**And maybe, if you play your cards right**

_Buy me a drink first :P_

**I wouldn’t dare**

**I can’t risk ruining another pair of trousers due to your oafishness**

**(Hint: This is where you send me a pissed off selfie)**

_Like this?_

_[photo attached]_

**Excuse you, that’s a bit lewd**

**…**

**What’s your address?**

_See if you’d said stuff like that from the start I might have realized we were flirting sooner_

**That wasn’t flirting, Snow**

**I’m planning to murder you**

_Like I said_

_Buy me a drink first_

* * *

_Did I leave my umbrella at your flat?_

**Someone left an umbrella here**

**Could belong to one of my other paramours**

_Getting a little action on the side are you?_

**Who says you’re not the action on the side, Snow?**

_Hmm_

_Well I guess it has been 2 months and you’ve still never taken me on a proper date_

_Am I your dirty little secret?_

**No**

**You’re just terrible at dating**

**I like that about you**

_You do?_

**Absolutely**

_Why?_

**Because we match**

_Aww_

_[photo attached]_

**…**

**You should come get your umbrella, Snow**

**I need to murder you**

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know about my WIPs and other random, vaguely Carry On or fanfic-related things I like to talk about, you can find me on tumblr as [@f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com)!


End file.
